


10 minutes early

by icingsugar



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Morning Sex, pre-reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icingsugar/pseuds/icingsugar
Summary: chat noir wakes up ten minutes early to give his lady a proper goodbye.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 2
Kudos: 113





	10 minutes early

**Author's Note:**

> Ladybug awakened to her thighs being kissed.

Well, what had actually woken her up was the flash of cold along her bare body and the sweep of the duvet being peeled back from her. But the thing that  _ awakened _ her, the thing that shot a livewire charge through every nerve in her sleepy, sleepy body — was her naked thighs being kissed.

She was awake, but her eyes were too heavy, and couldn't catch up.

"Kitty?" she rasped.

A low, long hum followed from the same direction as the kisses. 

That was not an affirmative hum. It may have been disguised as one (a wolf in sheep's skin — or a  _ cat _ , if she wanted to be accurate) but from her handful of experiences, that low, long hum only ever came out of a hickeyed throat, out of bruised lips, out of a Chat Noir freshly touched and begging for more.

(Or a Chat Noir that had left  _ her _ freshly touched.)

"Did I wake you?" he mumbled against the crack of her thighs. The vibration made her tingle.

"Yeah," she said softly. The kisses continued, his nose skimming her flesh, and Ladybug was too sleepy to decide whether the next thing out of her mouth would be a moan or something coherent. "Didn't you have somewhere to be today?"

Another hum, this time more of an affirmation than before. "Got up early. Have about ten minutes before I have to get going." 

She sank into a lazy smile. Well, at least he had kept his promise.

Not that she had given him much of a choice. She had timed the question perfectly, when they had been making love and he had been at that point where he'd say yes to anything she said.

"Say bye to me before you go tomorrow," she had panted. "Even if it's 6 A.M.."

His lips had skimmed hers, eyes screwed shut as he moaned against her mouth, hotel bed squeaking underneath them. "Yes.  _ Yes.  _ Anything for you."

(She had been pleased. For once, he didn’t flat-out refuse her this request, didn’t even have enough conscious thought in him to argue, ‘but, My Lady, you need your sleep’).

“A spare ten minutes and you’re  _ not _ using it to watch anime?” she said. “Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend?”

She could almost hear him roll his eyes. “Funny,” he deadpanned, pressing his palms onto her inner thighs and pushing them apart. “I’m laughing so hard.”

Ladybug had been about to say something, but stopped as soon as he put his mouth on her.

Half-asleep as she was, Ladybug couldn't quite put a name or a description to what exactly he was doing to her. There were his lips and his tongue and sometimes both, and there were the bed sheets fisted in her hand that she hadn't even realised she'd grabbed. His hair clenched in her fingers and her eyes fluttering up to the stretch of manila ceiling that was streaked in her vision by her heavy eyelashes.

She was making an appreciative sound. It poured out of her automatically, like a shiver against wandering hands.

"Is this good?" he said, words fragmented and flanked by strokes of his tongue.

Of course he knew it was good. Ladybug wasn’t awake enough to resist her body’s need to arch into his hands, rub against his mouth, tremble against his dancing fingertips, so, of course, Chat Noir knew it was good. She was stroking his ego with every quiver of her thighs and they both knew it.

“ _ Faster,” _ she demanded in a hoarse, sleepy whisper.

“What was that?”

Ladybug almost growled.

He laughed, and it impaled her with a shudder all through her body. Chat Noir eased out a series of staccato whimpers from her. His tongue was the mouthpiece of his desires, and her erupting goosebumps, her trembling flesh, her twisted brow and bitten lips and hardened nipples answered to him. It was not an act of submission, but an act of appreciation. Gratitude. With his head between her thighs, he dedicated himself and every one of his desires to pleasing her — answering to him, then, was cooperative, hardly submissive.

“Fuck.” She pulled at the bed sheets until they snapped off the edge of the mattress. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Her orgasm wracked through her in a spine-arching, eye-rolling, stomach-clenching, paroxysmal wave. Chat Noir held her steady, his claws pressing into the skin of her thighs, her body welcoming him both in pleasure and pain.

(Though the two often overlapped, when it came to things like this).

She was still shaking when he extracted himself from between her. Chat Noir filled her panting lips with a kiss, the taste of him mixed with the taste of herself doing little to help her catch her breath. 

Fondly, he rubbed his thumb against her nipple, then kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you, Bugaboo.”

She smiled, eyes still too heavy to open. “I love you.”

He kissed her forehead again, then her nose. “Love you, too. Sleep well.”


End file.
